


Lazy Days

by ABrighterDarkness



Series: Natasha Bingo [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Affection, Couch Cuddles, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Lazy Mornings, Multi, Nail Polish, Natasha Romanov Feels, POV Natasha Romanov, Sam Wilson Feels, Sleepy Cuddles, Steve Rogers Feels, Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23782759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABrighterDarkness/pseuds/ABrighterDarkness
Summary: Natasha let her eyes fall closed as the body behind her rolled almost automatically to face her direction, a sleepy kiss pressed to her shoulder, a warm hand settling against her hip.  The one in front of her mirrored the movement and the affection, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.  Natasha sighed, finally feeling the sense of peace that the mission had left her aching for.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson
Series: Natasha Bingo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656832
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25
Collections: Marvel Polyship Bingo 2020, Natasha Bingo





	Lazy Days

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this lovely ball of fluff for Natasha Bingo (B3 - Domestisicty) and Marvel Polyship Bingo (N1 - Nail Polish). 
> 
> It's warm and fluffy and I really hope that you enjoy it!

It was still early, the sun still hours away from even starting to peek over the horizon when Natasha slipped quietly through the front door, pushing it closed behind her and turning the lock almost silently. She bit back a sigh as she toed out of her shoes--beat up sneakers she kept because they were comfortable and comfort was something she always craved after rough missions. She padded through the house to the kitchen, making sure to keep her steps quiet as not to wake the other occupants and mindlessly went through the steps to start coffee brewing, despite knowing that it would either be cold or burnt by the time any of them would likely get around to drinking it. It was habit more than anything.

She unzipped the soft, far too large sweatshirt and draped it haphazardly over one of the sturdy wood chairs at the dining table. Relishing, for just a brief moment the comfort of shedding her mission-readiness to sink into the simple comfort of the plain yoga pants and tank top that she kept stashed in her locker for exactly this sort of night. Natasha stifled a yawn against the back of her hand before running her fingers through her hair, scratching lightly against her scalp.

The coffee brewer was still dripping away but she didn’t have the patience or energy to wait. Instead, she turned down the hallway until she could nudge open the mostly-closed door enough to slip in. There was very little of the usual refined grace in her movements as she tiredly climbed onto the foot of the bed, crawling toward the head until she could settle in between the warm, sprawled bodies of the still-sleeping men.

Natasha let her eyes fall closed as the body behind her rolled almost automatically to face her direction, a sleepy kiss pressed to her shoulder, a warm hand settling against her hip. The one in front of her mirrored the movement and the affection, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Natasha sighed, finally feeling the sense of peace that the mission had left her aching for. 

“You just gettin’ back, Tash?” Steve asked, voice still thick with sleep, his large hand trailing gentle fingertips down the side of her face.

She nodded silently, shifting closer until she could nuzzle her face into his chest, painfully satisfied when his fingers moved into her hair, combing through it and gently parting tangles as he went. 

“You okay?” Sam asked, moving forward with her and curling against her back, his hand at her side sliding forward until his fingers splayed against her stomach, holding her to him. “Any injuries?”

“Few bruises,” she said, mumbled might be a better term for it but her point made it across regardless. “I’m okay. Just...missed you.” That used to be a phrase that terrified her. A truth that, for so long, she refused to acknowledge, let alone speak. To acknowledge that she cared enough, wanted to be cared about enough, by someone else to actually miss them. It was a vulnerability that had taken her months to settle into.

She didn’t hesitate now. Not anymore. Not with them.

“Missed you too,” Sam said quietly with another soft kiss to her shoulder.

“Made coffee,” Natasha said, having nearly forgotten that she had started the brewer in the face of the combination of comfort, safety, and exhaustion. “Should be done.”

Sam chuckled softly against her skin and Natasha couldn’t help but sink slightly into the familiarity of the sound, “We’ll fix it in the mornin’.”

“Get some sleep, Tash,” Steve whispered. She could feel Sam’s thumb sweeping gentle strokes over her stomach and Steve tucking his face against the top of her head and let sleep take her.

Natasha woke to a dip in the mattress beside her and a broad, warm hand stroking over her back. She hummed sleepily and blinked her eyes open when she heard something set onto the side table. Her eyes found the steaming coffee mug and then looked beside her to find Steve, still in just the flannel pajama pants he’d worn when she’d gotten home, smiling fondly.

“Morning,” she mumbled, shuffling closer until she could rest her head on his thigh. Steve’s hand moved from her back to comb gently through her hair, more deliberately than he had managed the night before. 

“Morning,” he echoed. “How’d you sleep?”

“A week's worth in one go,” she said in answer. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten,” he answered. “I know you don’t like sleeping much later if you can help it.”

“No, good idea. Thank you,” she sighed and then frowned slightly. “You didn’t go run?”

“Nah, figured missing one day wouldn’t hurt any,” Steve smiled. “Kinda wanted to be here with you this morning. Sam’s making breakfast. He kicked me out of the kitchen when I tried to help so I just brought you the coffee.”

“You both spoil me,” she laughed quietly, reluctantly pushing herself to sit up.

Steve took the opportunity to lean in and kiss her sweetly. “Someone’s gotta,” he smiled against her lips. “And you won’t let anyone else.”

“You’re full of shit, Rogers,” She grinned, playfully shoving him away. “I think you and Sam would take more offense to someone else trying to spoil me than I would.”

“You might be right about that,” he admitted unashamed. He kissed her again and then pressed his lips to her forehead affectionately before standing from the rumpled bed. “Come out when you’re ready. No rush.”

Natasha nodded in understanding but remained where she sat, watching him leave. It had taken her a long time to understand the odd, twisting sensation beneath her sternum when either he or Sam had given her one of those soft looks that were so familiar now. Probably even longer than it was to admit the vulnerability of having someone to miss. It had been terrifying and simultaneously humbling to be on the receiving end of the obvious affection.

Now, though, the twisting sensation still happened but she’d grown to accept it. To want it. It still scared her sometimes. She still occasionally wondered if it wouldn’t be better for all of them if she just...slipped away. They would take good care of one another whether she was in the picture or not. She had no doubts there. But somehow, even when those thoughts and concerns clawed at her mind, Natasha still found herself slipping silently into the house in the dead of night and not pausing a moment before climbing into their bed.

She sighed softly and reached for the coffee mug that Steve had left for her, taking a deep drink. She smiled fondly at the slight sweetness. Natasha hadn’t told either of them how she preferred her coffee. They were sometimes painfully attentive to her in ways that she hadn’t known realized were in any way significant until the small details showed up in their actions. 

Natasha set the mug back onto the table and climbed out of bed, stretching the remaining sleepiness from her muscles. She snatched her brush from its spot beside where the mug had been sat and carefully gave a few passes through her hair. It wasn’t long enough for a tie or a braid anymore, much to her annoyance that particular morning. She didn’t bother fighting with it further, dropping the brush back to the table and grabbing the mug as she left the room.

Sam caught her movement as she entered the kitchen and glanced up, the focused expression he’d worn while facing the pan on the stove fading immediately into a warm grin. Natasha set her mug on the counter and approached quietly. Without requiring any urging, Sam switched the spatula to his opposite hand and tugged her into a hug with an arm around her shoulders. Natasha sunk into the comfort, her arms winding around his waist, resting her head against his chest. 

Despite what she had attempted to convince herself of early on, it wasn’t just physical. Though, she could admit that was a pretty convincing bonus. She wasn’t blind. Both Sam and Steve were undeniably gorgeous and their sex life was more than satisfactory. It was this too. What tempered that fear that still sometimes bolted through her. The soft affection that paired so seamlessly with the banter that wound through their interactions from the very beginning. 

The way the three of them could step away from the mission and shed the fight as easily as their uniforms because they knew that they had each other to step to. The way that, a week long solo-mission from hell was worth it because she knew that when she was done with that, she had this too. While she had respected it, she hadn’t always understood why Clint was so eager to disappear following a rough mission. 

She did now.

She could feel the soft kiss pressed into her hair and tipped her head back to accept the one he pressed to her lips before pulling his attention back to breakfast. “Mornin’ Sunshine.”

“When have I ever been a remotely sunny person?” Natasha asked dryly.

“All day everyday,” he grinned. 

“Liar,” she said, rolling her eyes fondly. She stretched up to kiss his cheek and carefully detangled from the hug, returning to her coffee. 

“How’re you feeling this morning?” he asked over his shoulder. “You mentioned some bruising. Anything else?”

“Pretty sure my wrist is sprained,” she shrugged dismissively. “Nothing’s broken though. Not bad considering the mission.”

“Want me to take a look?” Sam offered.

“After breakfast is fine,” she answered. “It’s not going anywhere any time soon. It can wait.”

Sam leveled a mild glare at her, one she had witnessed Steve receiving time and time again following one of his reckless acts. No wonder Steve usually fell into apologizing as soon as he saw it. She didn’t even feel guilty for pushing it off and it had her feeling like she ought to be. He turned off the burner and sat the spatula aside, wiping his hands on a towel. “There,” he said pointedly. “No reason to use breakfast as an excuse, it’s not gonna burn. Let me see.”

Natasha glared at her coffee, still more than half full, before setting it regretfully back on the table. She extended her arm and he carefully cradled her wrist in his hand, the opposite gently feeling the injured joint. He kept a light grip on her wrist as he side stepped to pull an ice pack--one of the many they had stockpiled in the past few months--and wrapped it around her wrist.

“Definitely feels like a sprain,” Sam agreed. “You still got your brace?”

“I don’t think it’s bad enough for that,” Natasha frowned.

“That’s just ‘cause your body’s so used to getting injured that your standards of measurement are skewed,” Sam chuckled. “It’s not a mild sprain, Natasha. Iced and braced for the next few days. Give yourself a chance to heal, baby. For you and me, that means more than just a couple hours.”

“Does that mean it’s a lazy day?” She asked, biting back the warm rush the idea brought forward. 

She used to hate lazy days. The restlessness and the need to  _ do something _ would eat and eat at her until she found herself at least a sparring partner to burn through some of the energy. Purely lazy days with Sam and Steve were somehow different and so very rare that she couldn’t bring herself to even consider feeling guilty for indulging when they did happen.

“That’s the plan,” Sam smiled, ducking his head to steal a kiss before nudging her gently from the room. “Go on and get comfortable. I’ll plate it up and bring it out.”

“Coffee too,” she called over her shoulder.

“Like I’m dumb enough to forget your coffee,” Sam scoffed playfully.

A small grin played on her expression as she snatched her abandoned mug from the counter and drifted idly through the rooms of the house until she found Steve. He was leaning against the far end of the couch, knees pulled up and feet planted on the cushion and sketchbook propped against his thigh. The late morning sun brightly lit the living room and Natasha allowed herself a moment to pause and look at him before he had the chance to notice her presence.

She hadn’t been all too impressed with the man, when she first met him on the helicarrier in the days before the Chitauri. There had been something abrasive about him that had grated. It was only being given the opportunity to get to know him better that allowed her to understand, at least in hindsight, just how much pain Steve had been in during that first meeting. How much grief he had been required to force down and pack away in order to meet SHIELD’s needs. 

It had always been Clint and Phil that had held her loyalty more than SHIELD itself. Natasha respected Nick Fury to a point but she couldn’t help but resent him. Her resentment, she thought, was only reasonable considering he had lied to all of them about Coulson’s death, his own death, and untold number of other things he didn’t think they needed to know. But the closer she grew to Steve, the more she heard of what SHIELD had expected and required of him, the resentment seemed to change flavor. 

Natasha hadn’t realized how bitter she had become toward the man and the way he handled things until just that moment, standing just outside of their living room, watching Steve sketch idly. Seemingly at peace. So far from the man she first met. Or even the man she picked up from the National Mall. Steve hadn’t been any more at peace then than he had been in New York. 

He glanced up suddenly, catching her just standing there watching him and only smiled. That particular smile was a rare one. She was fairly positive that only she and Sam knew of its existence. There was no trace of falsity. No forced twist to it. No respectful politeness. Just true, unfiltered happiness and affection. She wasn’t sure how someone like her, with a history like hers, could have possibly ended up with two genuinely  _ good _ men who looked at her like  _ that. _ She didn’t know but, surprisingly, she didn’t quite feel the usual urge to question it either.

Instead of poking at the question, Natasha entered the room fully, setting her mug onto the coffee table and dropping onto the middle cushion next to him. She reached forward for the remote, turning the tv on but keeping the volume low as she scanned the listings and leaned sideways against his shin. The hand not curled around his pencil found its way back into her hair, stroking through gently and working through whatever tangles she might have missed with her brush. 

Sam trailed in shortly after handing her and then Steve their plates. Steve caught his hand and tugged playfully until Sam ducked to kiss each of them softly before retreating to grab his own plate and the carafe of coffee. They hadn’t had one of those, either individually or together, until they began having lazy couch days. The glass carafe didn't keep the coffee hot once it was pulled from the burner and it was too much hassle to keep running to the kitchen for refills. The thing was only brought out on days like this but Natasha thought it was well worth the investment, small as it was. When he returned, he settled on her opposite side, feet propped on the table near their mugs.

They ate their breakfast in peaceful silence, dishes discarded onto the table when they finished to be cleaned up some undetermined time later. Natasha ended up stretched out, her back against Sam’s chest and his arm wrapped around her waist and her feet tucked under Steve’s thigh for warmth as much as contact. Some random movie--something animated, though she couldn’t name which--played in the background. Sam seemed to be fully invested but Natasha dozed in and out throughout it. 

At one point, Steve had tossed his sketchbook and pencil aside and shifted into a more comfortable position, pulling her feet into his lap once he was settled. She wasn’t sure how she missed him getting up and moving around. Nor was she certain when he’d located her stash of nail polishes. But somehow they and a handful of acrylic paints were strewn across the coffee table nearest Steve and he had located one of his small, thin brushes that looked even tinier when held in Steve’s large hand.

Her attention drifted between the movie, dozing off, and the fact that Steve Rogers was not only carefully and attentively painting her toenails but apparently adding his own artistic flare to whatever design he had chosen. He had done her pretty teal that she only ever used on her toes for the base. It was too catchy and flashy to use on her fingernails except during very specific ops, which she didn’t accept nearly as often anymore. Then he had picked up the paint brush and alternated between bottles of regular acrylic paints as he decorated her nails. There was something ridiculously sweet about such a large man having the inclination and motivation to spend his lazy day painting her nails.

When it looked like he was nearly done, Natasha startled slightly when Sam kissed the curve of her neck and took her hands in his, holding them out and steady in offering for Steve to continue his work. Steve just grinned and shifted closer until her knees were draped over his lap, her backside against his thighs and feet resting on the couch cushion. He took one of her hands, the uninjured one, from Sam and stared at her collection of nail polish on the table for a moment before snatching his choice up into his hand. Natasha didn’t look to see which. At this point, she really couldn’t bring herself to care. 

Besides, that’s what nail polish remover was made for and she had a stash of that too. She was more than content with letting go and sinking into the soothing energy of the day. Into the gentle sweeps of Sam’s thumbs against her ribs and his reassuring presence against her back. Into Steve’s soft smile as he focused on her hands and the soft sweeps of his paint brush. 

So much more than content. She thought that, maybe, she might be willing to tell them so. Not today. But soon.  


**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come say hello on [Tumblr](https://alwaysabrighterdarkness.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
